


Fake IDs and Tree Flavored Tea

by NotRoman (Manniness)



Series: The Fleischer Guide to an Unforgettable Holiday [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Companion Piece, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV First Person, Private Investigators, Rescue, Same-Sex Marriage, Smut, vigilantes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/NotRoman
Summary: Companion fic to Freefalling From Las Vegas!!!THIS WORK CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!(It's meant to be read after Chapter 26 of Freefalling From Las Vegas.)From the blatantly illegal to the gag-reflex invoking.  What wouldn’t you do for the sake of a loved one?





	1. Fake ID

**Author's Note:**

> When my Author’s Notes reached a certain level of detail, I decided I’d go ahead and fic Agron’s POV. And, actually, Agron was pretty insistent that I write this. So here we are.
> 
> Do not expect a plot or a storytelling structure similar to Freefalling From Las Vegas. This is a series of vignettes from Agron’s perspective.

“Found your guy.”

“My wha--where?”  I hitched my shoulder higher, wedging the phone receiver in place and ignoring the courtesy music as I took Mira’s call on my cell.

She answered, “Las Vegas.  Clark County Hospital.”

“The hospital?!”  Shit fuck.  How the hell--damn it all--I was supposed to step in and extract the snarky little shit before it got to that point.  “Sit rep, Mira.”

“Upper body bruising.  Broken leg.  Still unconscious.”

“Fuck.  How’d it happen?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”  She was right.  I did not fucking believe it.  At least the cover story was marginally plausible.  “Who’s there with him now?”

“Lucius.”

“OK.  OK, I’m gonna make some calls.”

“You got this?”

My eyes narrowed.  She doubted me, did she?  “I’ve got this.”

I tumbled the phone receiver into its cradle.  Fuck the airfield manager I’d been on hold for and fuck my bullshit story about abandoned luggage and our Homeland Security-loving supervisor who would incinerate the stuff if it was still unclaimed at noon today.  I dropped the act like a bag of steaming dog shit and sent a quick message off to Rab and Lydon -- they could stop checking for the helicopter’s destination.  Fuck, we’d only just managed to figure out the damn thing’s call sign, too.  By way of painstaking process-of-elimination.

“Things have moved out of state,” I updated them.  “Can we settle up?”  Since my search for Duro was taking me out of their purview, I probably wouldn’t be needing their services.  Except for one last, unfortunately necessary but very not-legal thing.  I named it.

“I don’t do passports or driver’s licenses,” Lydon refused.

“The next best thing, then,” I finagled.  Fuck, I would beg if I had to.  Whatever it took.  “As far as I’ve heard, he hasn’t been ID’ed yet.  I gotta get him outta there.”

He sighed.  “OK.  Name?”

“Nasir Fleischer.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about the crazies in Las Vegas, but no one’s gonna believe you two are brothers, man.”

“Spouses.”

“Huh.  Yeah.  That works.  Give me two hours.”

In the meantime, I called home and roused the cavalry.  The first guy on my contact list answered after two rings and was the lucky recipient of a succinct rundown: the one man who could possibly lead us to Duro was up shit creek without a paddle and failure was so far from being an option that it was freezing its limp dick off in Antarctica.

“I’ll call the others,” Donar promised with a surprising lack of bitching; he was just as done with nagging me about my lack of progress as I was with telling him to shove it up his ass sideways.  He said, “We’ll see you at ground zero.”

I found a midday flight with an open seat.  Booked it.  Threw my shit together and checked out of the shitty motor lodge where I was staying.  Swung by Lydon’s office.

Both he and Rab piled into my rental car before I could unbuckle my seat belt.  “The fuck is this?” I blurted.  “Southern California’s idea of a delivery service?”  I held out my hand for the ID.

Lydon passed it forward.

Rab nodded to his colleague.  “Donnie, here, he gets attached to cases like your brother’s.  We’re seeing it through.”

“Across state lines?”

“Hey, we’re all concerned citizens.”

“Proud to be an American,” Lydon grunted, buckling up.

I grinned down at the well-used but very fake student ID.  “Cal Tech, huh?  I’m impressed.”

“Yeah,” Rab agreed, wearily.  “You sure as hell were.”

“It was nauseating,” Lydon groused.

I was still grinning as I tucked the ID into my wallet and then checked the rear and side view mirrors for oncoming traffic.  “You guys were hanging on every word.”

My chest may have puffed up a bit when they didn’t deny it.  But seriously.  That little guy had taken Sparts down, knocked Naevia on her ass, and would have tackled me if I hadn’t had that extra moment or two to brace myself.  What a fucking spitfire.

“If he wakes up before you get there…” Lydon trailed off.

That was the last thing I needed to hear right now.  “Hey.  I’m trying to keep it under the unofficial speed limit.”

Rab distracted me from the stampede of panic-inducing contingencies: “He gonna back your play?”

God only knew.  I’d talked to him all of once and that had been over a week ago.  Plenty of time to talk himself out of rebelling against his cocksmooch of a boss.  But-- “Something went down on that roof.  A smart guy would want at least a day incognito to sort his shit out before wading back in.”

“Yeah, well, good luck,” Lydon muttered.

“Yeah.  Thanks.”  I had the feeling I was gonna need a fuck ton of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t a huge deal, but I guess I’ll mention it.
> 
> Rabanus (Rab) is a P.I. who works in Los Angeles and specializes in missing persons (including people who don’t want to be found). I’d like to think that Agron dealt with him before on a joint case in the past, so when Duro went out to L.A. and then failed to check in, Rab was the first guy Agron called.
> 
> Lydon (Donnie) is a P.I. who works in San Diego and specializes in cases involving fraud. He’s friends with Rab, and Rab was the one who introduced Agron to Lydon in order to find out everything they could about Tiberius. When Lydon couldn’t find any useful information on Tiberius, Agron, Spartacus, and Naevia broke into the guy’s apartment to GPS tag his stuff, which was totally a last resort. At that point, they were desperate.


	2. Tree-Flavored Tea

There was never anything to fucking do at airports except wait.  And pick through your own wallet.  I yanked another crumpled convenience store receipt out of the billfold before I gave in and admired Lydon’s handiwork... for the umpteenth time.

The photo.

The name.

Nasir Fleischer.  I kinda liked the sound of it.

Agron and Nasir Fleischer.

Nasir and Agron Fleischer.

Damn, it sounded incredible both ways, but that was not why I’d tied myself to the man.

As Nasir Fleischer’s husband, I had rights.  For instance, the right to make medical decisions on his behalf while he was incapacitated.  And the more primal right to punch some asshole in the face for harassing my man.  And the God-given right to turn a fucking hospital inside out -- if necessary -- in search of my injured spouse.

I had a spouse.

Shit.  I’d kinda expected I’d get married someday.  I just hadn’t thought today would be that day.

“Fuck off for ten minutes,” Lydon ordered, pointing me toward the airport shops.  “They won’t even let you on the fucking plane with you this high strung.”

“Suck it,” I grumbled, launching myself up from the low-slung seat at the frustratingly inactive boarding gate, and stomped off.  I had thirty minutes to kill.

Or kill someone.

I looked around.  Hm.  No volunteers.

I called Mira.

“Lucius texted me,” she said without bothering to cough out a greeting.  “Your guy’s awake.”

Shit.  Fuck.  “And?  He give the doctors his name?”

“He says he can’t remember it.”

I stumbled to a halt right in the middle of the clusterfucked thoroughfare.  “Can’t remember what?”

“Anything.  As in full-blown amnesia.”

Shit _****and****_  fuck.  If his memories were truly lost, then so was Duro.

But no.  Wait.  He was faking.  Had to be.  He was buying time and staying under his boss’ radar.  Hiding in anonymity until he was mobile enough to make an escape.  Fuck, that was smart.  “Lucius say anything else?”

“He’s not a fan of daytime soaps.”

“Anything useful?” I clarified.

“Define ‘useful.’”

I growled.  “Boarding is in twenty-five minutes,” I informed her and hung up.

I glared at the phone as I lowered it from my ear--

\--and when I blinked, I found myself staring at a familiar shop name: Lupicia.  That fucking fancy tea he liked.  With a jolt, I realized that this was the sort of thing a husband would be on top of.  And besides, what could it hurt?

I bought a tin of strawberry blossom and green tea, rubbing my thumb slowly over the label before I realized that while I might be having a nice little moment of nostalgia over this fucking canister, Nasir might not.  He might just throw my peace offering right back in my face.

Shit.  Should’ve bought the soft pack of loose leaf tea.  That wouldn’t hurt as much to get whapped with.  Ah well.  I’d take my chances.  As usual.

I spent the flight pretending no one else existed.  Both Rab and Lydon were good with this and let me run through the scenarios one by one in constipated silence.  I was no good at this kind of shit: planning ahead.  But I was damn good at winging it.  I was an ace at provoking people to get the information I needed, and once I got a lead, I ran it down into the ground… and then I started digging.

That skill set probably wasn’t gonna help me out much with Nasir.

So I made a list.

After the flight landed, I started checking through each point.

First: hotel suite.  Neutral ground, something apartment-like.  Nasir and I had met in an apartment and the extra space could come in handy just in case we needed to ignore each other.  I called ahead.  Locked it in.

Next was food.  I couldn’t bring my husband home to empty cupboards.

Then it was time to check in.  Thank God I had cash on me.

After that, unpack.  I tossed some of my shit around the place: electric razor on the desk, socks and T-shirt on a chair, toothbrush--

Shit, no toothbrush for Nasir.  But, OK, I could work with this if I had to; he’d been coming to meet me here when he had the accident -- yeah.  That was the story.  I came here ahead of time to… get a job and yes, OK, we’re in the process of moving and--my dad’s bike.  That’s what Nasir was riding when--right, good.  I was a husband, not a P.I. staking out a lead… and definitely not a stalker.

I was as ready as I’d ever be.

I called down to the front desk and ordered up a taxi to take me to Clark County Hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear -- Spartacus put Agron in charge of keeping an eye on Nasir and tracking his movements. Due to the trackers Spartacus and Naevia tucked into Nasir’s clothes and shoes and whatnot, Agron knew that Nasir went to an airfield, but he didn’t know which helicopter he took or its destination (because Nasir changed clothes at the hangar and put on a flight suit that was already there in his locker). Considering the fact that Agron also “lost” Duro, he’s feeling like a ginormous failure of a big brother right now.


	3. MVP

He actually looked a little happy to see me, so I went with it.  I kissed him and -- oh, God -- I had been wanting to do that since… fuck, since he’d started bossing me around his kitchen.  I called him “babe” -- he was definitely a babe.

And he let me.

And that was when it hit me: he hadn’t been _****happy****_  to see me; he’d been _****amused.****  _ And now he was looking up at me with those big brown eyes and--

He didn’t recognize me.

Or he was doing a damn good job of acting like it.

Well, either way, he was completely defenseless.  It was all on me to spring him outta this place and take him somewhere safe.  Somewhere he could feel safe.  And maybe -- just maybe -- he’d work with me.  He’d give me the information I needed to find Duro.  I didn’t give a flying ratfuck if he was faking amnesia or not so long as I got names, locations… hell, _****anything.****_

God, twenty-two days and counting.  How much more time did I have before I lost my little brother for good?

“Agron,” Nasir mused.  “Spelled like it sounds?”

“Yeah.  Fleischer… not so much.”

“That’s German.”  It was almost a question.

“Yeah.”

“Any identity issues with that?”

I laughed, startled and fucking charmed.  “No.  I’m pretty compatible with American beer and meat.”

“I bet.”  His eyes traveled down my throat and across my shoulders.

“Motorcycle crash,” I mumbled after a long, awkward moment.  “Been in a couple of those myself.  Are you comfortable?”

He nodded, but seemed distracted.  “No one could tell me where the bike is.”

I could, but of course I didn’t.  Couldn’t.  Not until we were somewhere safe and he came clean about the amnesia act.  Events that I glimpsed on the horizon when he finally -- FINALLY -- asked me to spring him from this joint.

“Don’t you go anywhere,” I teased and loved it when he sassed back in silence.  God, I had not been lying: as much as I valued my dad’s bike, I’d much rather have this guy right here.  Of the two, Nasir might actually be able to help me find my little brother.

Pausing in the hospital corridor, I drew in a centering breath.  I had to convince Nasir to help me.  To help _****us.****_   Sparts was looking for his wife and he was convinced that the only way we were gonna get our loved ones back was to tear down the whole fucking operation: the promoters -- Batiatus, Solonius, and Vettius -- plus the ass nugget bankrolling the whole sick circus -- this Dominus fuckwad -- and since I hadn’t come up with a better plan, yeah, we were all running full steam ahead with that.

Sparts, Naevia, Mira, and me.

Plus Sparts’ army buddies: Hamilcar, Peirastes, Sophus, Tychos, and Fulco.

Also, Mira’s minions, Lucius and Lysandros.  Not to leave out Gannicus, who was finally on fucking board… though, given his inclination toward cheap whiskey, he might just fall right off of it.

Naevia swore she had the Ludus’ star fighter under her thrall and that all the men would follow his lead, no questions asked.

And my contribution: two California P.I.’s and a bunch of fucking wild Germans from small town Missouri.

And not one of us could put a name to this Dominus jerkoff.

Nasir could.  God, he could be our MVP, but I could not force him.  Or give him the impression that I was even trying to make him cooperate.  No matter how desperate I was to wrap my hands around some bad guy’s neck and just squeeze until he popped, I could not take it out on Nasir.

Absolutely not.

Although, when he started asking me shit I couldn’t answer… well, there was a moment when I almost lost my cool.  But I had to tread carefully; Nasir was smart.

This reminder hit me like a Mack truck as he took in every detail of our rental suite in two seconds flat.  Shit.  It’d taken months of training myself to be that observant.  So when he asked where all his stuff was, I answered the only way I could -- with the truth: “I dunno,” and then I headed for the kitchen and his tea.

The truth and familiar things.  This was hopefully gonna be my winning combination.  The familiar things would jog his memory if the amnesia deal was for real, and the truth would earn his trust whether he was faking or not.

For now, I would neither confirm nor deny the assumption that his stuff had been lost along with my dad’s bike.  I suppressed a wince at the memory of my fib: “The fuckers would’ve had to fight _****you****  _for it.”  Damn it.  I needed to be more careful with my wording.  I should have left out that one little word and said, “The fuckers would’ve had to fight for it” -- misleading, but absolutely true.  They’d take that bike over my broken and bleeding body.

_****Sharpen up, Fleischer!** ** _

I fucking would.  Starting right now.

I made his gross, tree-flavored tea exactly how he’d taught me to -- exactly as his husband would know how to do -- and, oh fuck I hoped I hadn’t missed anything serious.  Like, what if he had allergies?  Fuck, suppose he was a vegetarian?  Or, maybe he really hadn’t lost his memory at all and he was just fucking with me while his ass wipe of a boss was sending in the goons?

No.  Not that.  Definitely not.  This little man had reached out when he’d told me his name.  The name his brother had called him.  The brotherly bond was sacred -- I could _****see****_  that we shared that belief, he and I.

Nasir.

I’d tried to look him up, but without a family name to go on or even a place of birth and birth date, there wasn’t anything to find.  Disturbingly, his alias “Tiberius” was just as invisible.  No social security number.  No schooling.  No record of him at all.  Some dummy corporation sent in a check for his rent and utilities every month.  The guy was a ghost.

But the smile on his face as he took a whiff of his tea, that was very real.  And, fuck.  I wanted that smile aimed at me.  For real.


	4. Risks

He wasn’t faking.

Fuck, Nasir wasn’t faking the amnesia and, God damn it all to hell, I really wished that he had because what I was seeing right now was tearing my guts out through my pores.

“Tiberius,” he mouthed as the woman on the phone prattled on, oblivious to the way my hubby jolted.  As if someone had just ripped a strip of duct tape off of his spine in one merciless swipe.

The phone rattled as badly as his voice when he hung up.

Oh, God.  The man who’d kissed me with his whole being -- had that only been three hours ago? -- was being stolen back by the past, and I could _****not****_  stand here like a schmuck and just watch it happen.

Mindful of his leg, I lowered myself onto the mattress.  When we were kids, Duro had once sprained his ankle, and he’d yowled like a cat with his tail caught in the spin cycle whenever I’d so much as bumped the bed.  I called upon those smooth stealth skills as I slid behind this incredibly strong, intelligent, witty, and kindhearted man and wrapped his shivering form up in my arms.  The tremors alone -- the bed was shaking.

“Talk to me, babe.”

What little research I’d been able to do on amnesia last night -- via my phone in the relative privacy of the bathroom -- was fucking useless.  Memory games and brain puzzles.  Google hadn’t even given me a checklist for determining if Nasir was faking.  On the chance that he wasn’t… fuck.  Suppose we tried one or two of the recommended mental exercises and he brought up something personal?  He’d look to me -- his husband -- for confirmation and I’d be exposed as a fraud.  Just like that, I could lose his trust completely.  What if it all went to shit and he pushed me away?  There had to be people looking for him.  He could be dragged back to Dominus and I did not want to think about what that twisted fuck would do to him.  But Nasir’s promise in the taxi: “Whatever you need; it’s yours.”  God damn, that had been progress.  Real progress.  Nasir was on my team.

And now I was on his.  Oh, God.  I hadn’t appreciated how much he needed me, not until right this moment as he leaned in hard, matching his shallow breaths to mine.

I shouldn’t have let him make that call, but damn it fuck.  Sparts had been a no-show at Mira’s -- not one of his army pals had a clue where he was -- and Naevia hadn’t called with her regular check-in -- or if she had, then Sparts hadn’t relayed a word of it to anyone else -- and fucking fuck!  First Duro and Sura go missing and now Sparts and Naevia?  We needed a lead before the monster we’d poked in the eye gobbled all of us up.

When Nasir had grabbed the phone and started hitting buttons, I’d reacted.  How did I know that whoever picked up on the other end wouldn’t trace the call and come for us?

_****Let them.** ** _

It was a lead.  I’d released Nasir’s wrist and told him to go ahead and now here he was, falling apart in my arms.

God damn and fuck it to hell.

But then he did the most amazing thing: he pulled his shit together.  Just, like there was a vacuum somewhere deep inside and, with a flick of a switch, all the fear and pain and pure fucking torment was contained in a neat little ball of titanium.

“Agron…” he began, and I’d never really noticed before -- the power of a name.  I felt like I could stop the world from turning if that was what he needed.  That strength was his gift to me.

I made sure he was looking me right in the eyes when I vowed, “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

Too much bad shit had happened to this man already.  What else could I conclude from the look of unguarded amazement on his face?  What had he expected?  For me to start shouting and throwing punches?

He rasped, adoringly, “I think I’ve just figured out why I married you.”

Oh, God.  It was one thing for the man to not remember anyone caring about him before, but it was another if there was no one worth remembering.   _ ** **Didn’t your brother take care of you?  Didn’t you take care of each other?****_

Oh, how I wanted to ask.

I locked my jaw shut and swallowed the words.  Later.  I’d make all the time in the world for him and us and this later.  For right now, I just held on.

The man who hit redial was in full possession of himself.  He cut across the unknown woman’s rambling with a steely interruption: “Calm down.  What’s the problem?  How can I help?”

Control.  Hard-earned out of necessity.  I wanted to peel that fucking Dominus out of his own skin.

An inclination that only multiplied after Nasir hung up the phone and hooked his hand around my arm when I moved to get shit rolling.

“I didn’t know,” he struggled to say, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he fought an invisible fist gripping his throat.  “Tiberius--”  A tick, a flutter of lashes, tiny electric shocks.  “--and--and--I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

I reached for him, reminded him: “First, memories -- whatever they are, good and bad.  Then…”

“Then, we go from there.”

Well, just look at us.  Finishing each other’s sentences.  Like we were an actual married couple.

Fuck.

It wasn’t until over an hour later that he worked up the gumption to ask, “Did you know?  About Tiberius?  Did I ever tell you?”

Had Nasir ever told me about his “Tiberius” identity?  “No.”  No, that had been Sparts, who’d relayed intel gathered by Naevia.  Fuck, I was back to splitting hairs and I _****hated****_  it.

But at least Nasir didn’t assume I was a moron: “But… you’re a P.I.”

This time, I told the truth and nothing but the truth:

Yes, I’d done a background check.

No, there hadn’t been much to find.

And it absolutely did not matter because-- “You’re worth the risk.”

A risk that, as it turned out, gave me back my brother.  Duro was alive.  Duro was _****alive****_ and in my arms, and it was because of Nasir.  No amount of deflection could convince me otherwise.

Fuck.  Marrying that man had been the smartest thing I’d ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Let them.” This line is a callback to 2x05 when Agron says, “Let them (the Romans) come, and find assumption false.” And then there’s also 2x07 when Agron’s all, “I tire of hiding like frightened rabbits!” THIS GUY.
> 
> As I was posting Freefalling, Nagronaire suggested the use of brain games and puzzles to help speed up the healing process and I very badly wanted to explain why Agron wasn’t the best person to help Nasir with that… so it got mentioned here (FINALLY!!) in this chapter.
> 
> So… Agron was totally overwhelmed by the fact that he had the chance to get to know Nasir without that hostile Tiberius front to navigate. And since Agron’s a tactile person, being able to assist or hug Nasir was awesome for him. Plus, every time he called Nasir “babe,” he was half expecting Nasir to confront him about their fake marriage. But every time Nasir let it slide, Agron just got even more emotionally attached to him.


	5. No More Lies

“Fuck,” Duro mewled as I eased him into the van’s reclining back seat.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.  God, I was sorry for so many things.  “I’m sorry it took me so long to--”

“No, you were right.”  He grabbed the front of my shirt and slurred, “So stupid.  So sorry.  I won.  I won my fights and--the other guys--fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.”

My brow pinched.  “Never mind about the other guys, kid.  You’re right here.”  I rubbed his too-short hair briskly, standing the unwashed strands on end.  It had been years since I’d been able to indulge myself in annoying the shit outta my little brother like this -- in fact, I think the little punk had started growing his hair out back in high school just to spite me -- but he wasn’t annoyed.

A choked sob escaped him.  “Yeah, here I am.  I won.”

And for the first time since our parents had let us try on their old boxing gloves, Duro wasn’t crowing with pride over it.  What the hell?  What the fucking hell had happened to him out here?

I would have asked, but Duro was in no shape to deal with my interrogation methods right now.  His grip slackened and his head fell back against the headrest, lashes fluttering as he fought through a spike in fever.  Shit.

I took my anxiety out on Chadara instead.

“And a fucking taxi just happily toted you and a bleeding man to your little shithole of an apartment?” I was done with feeling fucking helpless and -- shit damn fuck -- how was it that strangers were doing a better job of looking after my kid brother than I was?

She gave as good as she got, though -- “Two words, dumb fuck: black shirt!” -- and that was a fucking relief because Nasir was looking at me like he wanted to smack me across the nose with a rolled up newspaper.

OK, fine.  I’d behave.  Scout’s honor.  I winked and he harrumphed but let it slide.

There was plenty of other shit I could not let slide any longer.  Not unless I wanted to end up waist deep in it.

Once Duro was resting and Donuts and Lu had done their boys-in-blue routine, I sat down with Nasir and just tried to figure out where to fucking start.  How much was too much information at this point?  I stared at the bottled water in my hands as if it could absolve me.

But, to be honest, I didn’t regret lying.  I regretted lying to _****Nasir.****_

_****Grow a pair, Fleischer.** ** _

Yeah.  OK.  The least I could do was _****try****_  to match this man’s bravery.  To start with, I could tilt the playing field so that it was a little closer to level: “I lied.  There’s no interview.  There’s a job.  This job.  It’s half done.”

It turned out that I didn’t have to explain why I wanted this asslick Dominus’ head mounted on my bathroom wall.  Nasir understood.  My little brother was hurt and someone was gonna pay for that and pay _****hard.****_

Nasir understood, but he argued anyway: “You’ll get yourself killed.  Agron, walk away.  You’ve got your brother and you’ve got--”

Fuck me.  Did I really stand a chance with this man?  After all the shit I’d thrown at him?  I had to know: “I’ve got my brother back and…?”

His mouth worked in silence, mesmerizing me.  I remembered his taste -- his scorching heat as he’d clawed me closer, wild for more--

He rasped, “And you already almost lost one husband this week.”

Husband?  He didn’t still believe that, did he?  The way he’d been back at Chadara’s place and in the van and here in the hospital, genuinely fearful of discovery-- well, I’d thought he had it all back.  But, fuck.  He didn’t know what he didn’t know.

 _ ** **No more lies,****_  I promised us both, and carefully felt my way: “You know there was no motorcycle accident.  My bike -- my dad’s bike -- is safe in storage.”  Deep breath.  “I’ve tried very hard not to lie to you.”

He understood that, too.  Even when I warned him about how we’d met, he didn’t shy away.  His hand cupped my face and--

Please, God, don’t let me fuck this up.

I think I came close a couple of times, though.  Like when Saxa and Rudy showed up at the hospital to take a shift at “guard duty” -- the look of recognition on Nasir’s face was followed swiftly by fury.

Saxa was thrilled.  “My ass is memorable, eh?  Has Agron got competition?”  She winked.

Rudy clapped his paw against Nasir’s shoulder, eager to be friends with the man he teased me about bringing home to the farm.  As if I was going to follow my parents’ example; I was staying in the city until they fucking kicked me out.

“Let’s get Chadara a hotel room,” I suggested before I found myself in even more trouble.  Besides, taking care of this woman seemed to be a thing for Nasir and I was all for winning myself back some of the points I’d just lost.

Chadara absolutely _****loved****_  the lodging that the fair city of Mesquite had to offer.

Nasir was resigned.

We’d left the plastic covers and masking tape for his cast back in Vegas.

“I can help wash your hair?” I offered, licking my lower lip.

His lips quirked.  “You gonna blow me, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

His smile stretched from one corner of his lush lips to the other.  “Set it up.”

I did and -- fucking fuck was it hard work washing someone’s hair over the edge of a tub.  Nasir was lucky in that he got to sit on the battered desk chair.  I played the part of a contortionist and gave myself spinal trauma.  But our shirts were off and I had no complaints about the view.  Not the back or the front… which I enjoyed immensely in the mirror as I blow dried his silky hair.

He was passed out on the bed closest to the bathroom by the time I emerged from my quick shower.  I set the alarm on my phone for four hours from now.  There was so much yet to say, but at least I was done with the lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, that was not a typo -- Agron really does call Donar "Donuts" because these dudes have been buds since kindergarten. And I think everyone calls Lugo "Lu" because he's, like, a brother/uncle to everyone in Hermann, Missouri.


	6. A Reason to Kill

I shouldn’t have asked about the fights.  I should have known that anything capable of wrecking my brother’s blind adoration for kickboxing, tae kwon do, and judo would be painful to discuss.  So when Nasir sang Duro’s praises, I did what I could to give him something good to hold onto.

“Hey.”  I wove our hands together.  “You saved him.”

He didn’t argue with me; he retreated.

His thick eyelashes lowered and stayed that way.  His breathing evened out.  I studied his features, relaxed in slumber.  What I wouldn’t give to see them transformed by pleasure.  Ah, fuck, I could have had that.  He’d wanted it as badly as I had but, fuck, not only was his leg a serious issue, but the fact that he’d spent less than twenty-four hours with me was reason enough to hold off.

Although, it had taken me something like twenty minutes to fall for him.  

If our story were anything like my mom and dad’s, twenty minutes would have been plenty to know that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.  I’d said as much on the drive back from Mesquite: I’d spend every day for the rest of my life with this man if he’d let me.  But Nasir didn’t have a foundation of love and support like I did.

Until two days ago, Nasir had been a slave called Tiberius.

Slave.  It was a harsh word, but I couldn’t think of a more accurate one.  Tiberius had lived in the housing provided for him, performed the work demanded of him, and had received no means to support himself from it.  No time off.  No freedom from the leash gripped tightly in his boss’ hand.

I recalled the sight of this little man tied to his kitchen chair, fingers curled into claws and teeth bared.  His instinct was to fight.  What had convinced him to submit to servitude in the first place?  I was tempted to console myself with a reminder of how smart he was; he could have been faking it, biding his time until--

_****“We can’t be friends.”** ** _

The defeat.  A man crushed, caged, hopeless.

Ah, fuck.  He hadn’t been faking.  He’d said those words and he’d believed them.

I didn’t need another reason to want to turn that “dominus” into a smear on the pavement, but I’d take it.

I must have passed out--

That had been the game plan.  I’d need as much rest as I could get before things started happening and shit started moving.

\--but a quiet sob had me opening my eyes to Nasir.  His anguish pulled me closer and what I wouldn’t give to wake up next to him every fucking day.  Even like this, misery included.

“You’ll be going out there.”

Out there.  To make sure those sick shits never hurt anyone’s little brother or sister ever again.  To free Nasir so he could be the man he was born to be.

“And I’ll be coming back,” I replied.  Nasir had been right: I had a brother to live for and, dare I hope, a lover?

 _ ** **No, more than that,****_  I realized as our lips met and merged simply and indivisibly.  This.  Us.  It wouldn’t be easy; I’d have to do more than just fight for it.  I’d have to bare my soul.

I looked into Nasir’s eyes and smiled.

Yeah.  I was good with that.

The afternoon after the op went down, the FBI raided the Domus.  It happened just like Naevia had said it would, and I got to watch it unfold from a very safe distance.  While breaking news headlines were flashing across TVs, Nasir and I sat down to talk.  It wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be, but it was nothing compared to the weeks ahead: getting Duro home, getting actual legitimate ID for Nasir, getting him started on a GED prep course so he could have a shot at picking a career for himself and joining the taxpaying populace, getting myself back to work and settling back into the life I’d dropped when my brother had disappeared… all that was nothing compared to the little things that tore me open.

Nasir woke up in tears sometimes.

I looked up his brother and the foster home they’d both run away from in L.A.  After that, I wanted to cry into a fucking pillow, too.  I met Donar at the gym instead and he let me pummel it out.

“You hold ‘em, and I’ll pummel,” Nasir had offered back in Vegas.  God, but he was fucking incredible.

“You gonna tell me why I just took that beating?” Donar asked after we’d collapsed on a bench.

“Because farming’s made you soft, Donuts.”

“Fucking try again, Agro-man.”

I bit my lip.

He said, “It stays between us.”  It wasn’t a promise; it was a reminder.

“Yeah.  OK.”  I told him what I’d found.  Donar challenged me to a rematch after that.  It was ugly and we were both still furious, but at least we wouldn’t unleash ourselves on unsuspecting bystanders.

When I got home, Nasir looked up from the textbook he was scribbling notes from.  “You beat information out of someone and I missed it?”  He teased, unknowingly strumming my heartstrings with vicious force: “You didn’t even try that out on me.  Who was the lucky guy?”

I changed course; instead of sprawling next to him for a cuddle on the sofa, I sat down on the coffee table.  Thank God the thing was sturdy as fuck.  “I’m so sorry.  What I said back at your place -- how that whole thing went down -- the threat to kill--”  My throat locked.

Nasir blinked, processed, and laid his pencil and notebook aside.  “I wasn’t giving you what you needed to find your brother.  You were frustrated.”

He said it so matter-of-factly.  “That’s not a reason to kill someone.”

Nasir sighed and, looking away, reminded me, “Not where you come from it’s not.”

Fuck.  I couldn’t argue with that.  I couldn’t argue because I’d found the hospital records.  I’d seen his brother’s death certificate.  And I’d heard Nasir’s voice over the line, stressed thin but steely with resolution: “Now… the cage doors.”

My team had swept the darkened rooms and corridors of the Domus in Death Valley to save lives; Nasir had given the order to take them.

He knew that world: kill or be killed.

I reached across his textbook and cradled his face in my hands.  “It’s not like that everywhere.”

He covered my hands with his and held them steady.  “Show me.”

I would.  Every day.  For the rest of our lives.

For starters, I kissed him.  Then, I made him some of that lick-a-tree tea he mysteriously adored.

I delivered his cup to him on the sofa and, when he inhaled the steam and smiled, the smile was for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda get a kick outta modern!Agron. I mean, he's kind of an optimist? Sorta surprised me is all.
> 
> And now for some Author Blather (TM)  
> I think Agron really started falling for Nasir when Nasir remembered his old life and didn’t even need a timeout before he was stepping up to rescue people and stop the bad guys… y’know, now that there was the smallest chance of success? And besides, Nasir wasn’t gonna let Agron do that mission thing without a Plan because that was HIS Agron out there in danger.
> 
> I recommend reading Chapter 27 of Freefalling From Las Vegas next, FYI. (^_~)


	7. Making It (Real)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read Chapter 27 of Freefalling From Las Vegas FIRST!!!  
> I think the story flows better if you do.
> 
> WARNINGS: ...smut (i.e. the sexytimes)

“Dinner?” I asked, biting back the second word that had almost slipped out: _****first.****_   As in, _****Dinner first?****    ** **Dinner before I take you to bed and show you how much I want you to spend the rest of your life with me?****_

The look Nasir gave me -- sly and knowing with that fucking sexy smirk.  Aw, shit.  He’d heard it.  Of course he had.  Given how wound up I was, there was no way I could fucking hide it.

“I’m taking a shower,” he informed me, locking the front door and throwing the deadbolt shut.

“OK.  I’ll get the casserole on the table.”

I put that in the microwave and pulled dishes down.  Listened to the water running in the other room.  Splashes as Nasir shifted, sending cascades over his skin.  Uninterrupted skin.  No cast, no plastic cover.  Oh, fuck.

By the time the sound of the blow dryer whirred through the walls, dinner was ready and I was fidgeting like I had ice cream sandwiches melting through my pants’ pockets.  A childhood misadventure I would never, ever forget.

I jerked open the utility drawer and pulled out a pair of emergency candles.  The holders were clunky cheap shit, but maybe it was the thought that counted?

When I heard Nasir padding down the hall toward the kitchen, I quickly yanked two beers out of the fridge, turning with a smile as he paused on the threshold.

The look on his face… I’d expected humor.  Maybe a touch of sarcasm.  Instead, his lips were slack with surprise, brows tilted with something almost like sorrow, eyes wide with amazement.

“Babe?” I checked.

“You… you really are…”  He paused to swallow.

I sat the bottles down on the table and cupped his face in my hands.  “If I’ve ever made you think I wasn’t--”

“No.”  He gripped my wrists, looking from me to the candlelit dinner.  “It’s just… I forget that I can have this.  Sometimes it just… hits me.”

I wished that pathetic squirt Numerius were still alive so that I could kill him very, very slowly.

Instead, I kissed Nasir.  Very, very slowly.  When he shifted on a shiver to tug me closer, I backed off.  Food first.  Neither of us were going anywhere near our bed on empty stomachs.

We talked.  Laughed.  Ate.  Argued a bit.  Nasir’s bare toes brushed against my socks.

He finished his beer first, watching me through his lashes as he licked his lips.  There was still an inch of liquid in my bottle, but I left it right there and took him to bed.

I replaced the taste of beer with the salt from his skin.  Nudged his legs over my arms and then shoulders and nuzzled after his musk.  His scent mingled with the soap and shampoo -- a dizzying combination that went to my head when we were both fully clothed and standing upright, but with him sprawled beneath me and perfectly bare on our bed, I was rendered absolutely mindless with need.

He was close -- I encouraged the tiny, helpless jerks of his hips against my mouth.  He could give in just like this.  I could take it, was happy to take it.  Fuck, my mouth was watering for it--

“No, not like that,” he breathed, and guided my hand to where he wanted it.  Oh, fuck.  Thank God I had lube.  I opened him up in a slow massage that had him groaning, head thrown back against the pillows as he pumped up into my slick fist.  I kissed his belly, his thigh, his knee--

“Agron.  Fuck.”  He reached between my legs and oh God damn fucking hell yes.  “This.  I want this.”

I pulled back long enough to roll a condom on, but when I lifted his hips, he hissed in pain.

“What is it, babe?”

“My calf.”

Right.  That leg had been in a cast for eight weeks.  It’d be a while before he had his full strength back in it.  I slid onto the bed, spooning him so that his back pressed to my torso.  “How’s this?”

He looked back at me over his shoulder, reached up to grip my hair and pull me into a deep, messy kiss.  “Keep this up, and we’re good.”

I trailed kisses and brief nips along his neck, whimpering when he reached back and took me in hand.  I held still, let him take as much as he wanted, let him thrust as slow-or-fast and as shallow-or-deep as he needed.  Fuck, he was so hot--burning me up--so fucking tight--

“More lube?”

His voice was so soft I almost couldn’t hear the words.  “Whatever you need, babe.  Anything,” I vowed as I complied, slicking us both a second time.

“You.  More of you.”  He lifted his knee, hooked his foot behind my leg, rolled his hips.  I panted, mind blown.  He shifted to meet my gaze.  “Show me.”

I did.  I made love to him in slow, long strokes that destroyed me with every searing, skin-tingling breath.  I kissed his shoulder, suckled the skin below his ear, surrendered to his kiss whenever he tilted his head back and lifted his face in silent demand.

“Talk to me,” I begged him.  Fuck, how could this possibly feel as good to him as it did to me?  “Tell me what you need.”

He moaned, shifting his hips back and bowing his spine, lining us up so that I stroked him where he wanted it.  He hissed long and deep.  “Ahhh--Agron.”

His fingers curled against my thigh, scratching long furrows in my skin--oh fuck.  I pistoned forward once, twice--

“Like this, babe?”

His strangled cry, arching spine and exposed throat -- the inarticulate reply of a man caught in the clashing tides of pleasure.  He gripped my forearm hard, dragged his teeth against the bicep pillowing his cheek and--oh good gorgeous fuck.  I was not going to last if he kept this up.

I guided his clawing hand up.  Pressed our palms together.  Interlaced our fingers for good measure.  He held on -- tight enough to separate bones and bruise muscle, he held on.

“Ahhh!” he exhaled as his ass rubbed into the cradle of my hips and I went deep--so fucking deep.

Caressing his raised knee, I urged, “That’s it.  Take it how you want it.  God, Nasir.  Wanna make you feel so good, babe.”

A tortured groan -- his hips snapped faster -- I cupped his thigh to brace him as he set a hard pace.  “Come--inside me,” he rasped and -- just from those words -- I very nearly did.

“You first.”  More lube, my fingers curling loosely around him, slick and teasing.  “Tighter?”

“No--no--no--so--fucking--perfect--Agron!”

Oh, fucking fuck.  It was.  He was.  We were.  He gave in on a hiss that tore on a gasp.  An abrupt cry as he spilled over my fingers, rhythm lost and crumbling.  I kept it up as he rippled and rode it out -- rode against me and oh my God so fucking tight--

I pressed my cheek against his ear and let go on a whine, panting, the first syllable of his name escaping over and over, the second lodged deep in my chest, which exploded into shimmering white sparkles that I could feel throughout my entire body.

When I realized I was still alive, I groaned.

Nasir answered with a satisfied hum.  His fingers speared blindly through my hair.  Tugged.  I lifted my flushed face from his skin.  Kissed him over and over again.  God, I couldn’t stop.  His lips, his cheek, his jaw, his neck, the back of his toned shoulders…

I nuzzled.  Nipped.  Clenched the sheets in my slick and sticky fist before flexing my arms around him.  I asked what his thoughts were on turning this test-drive of a marriage into the real deal.

“I’m going to need all new ID.”

I could fucking hear his smile.  I giggled.  Kissed him slow and deep until his fingers clenched in my hair and his short nails dug into my scalp.

My husband Nasir Fleischer.  Somehow, this was real.  We’d made it real. ** **  
****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell me the sexytimes weren't kudo-worthy?! Like, don't leave me hanging, fandom friend! (^_~)
> 
> Also, what did you think of Agron suspecting that Nasir was faking the amnesia for a bit, there?  
> I really liked that... and I especially liked that Agron did not care AT ALL either way until he realized Nasir was being hurt by the return of his memories.
> 
> OMG, and there was bare-chested bathroom action in Chapter 5, yeah?  
> I may-might-could p o s s i b l y have a thing for Agron helping Nasir with basic hair maintenance. Domestically adorable.
> 
> And, Rab and Donnie are my new gladiator BFF combo.
> 
> So, kudos given? (And/or comment posted?) All good there, yeah?  
> In that case, how about we check in with Duro? The next recommended reading is part 3 of The Fleischer Guide to an Unforgettable Holiday -- In Retrospect, Chapter 5: Down Homing.


End file.
